Beacon of the Past
by reminiscent-afterthought
Summary: The sands of time run their course; the future comes forth as the past fades. Lives are taken, and then renewed and a new life rewrites old, but so long as memories linger, as does the past. Post 01.


**Author's Note**

Hello everyone. Another new fic, though this one was partially written up during exam month. Enjoy, though once again, on the short side.

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**Beacon of the Past**

The sands of time run their course; the future comes forth as the past fades. Lives are taken, and then renewed and a new life rewrites old, but so long as memories linger, as does the past. Post 01.

Mimi T

Rating: T

Genre/s: Spiritual/Hurt/Comfort

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It had been a long time since she had returned. Once a lonely corner of a lonely beach, the coastal waters had now brought life to what had developed into a Digital Paradise. Like Hawaii on earth, the plane brimmed with tourists and those of permanent residence that made their living on keeping others entertained.

She remembered when they had first arrived in the digital world. The beach that they had washed up upon after falling into the river on account of a wind Kuwagumon. The phone booths and the inter-dimensional cross-wiring that had led to much frustration due to their ignorance about the strange world they had become trapped in.

It had been the first time Agumon had digivolved, into the large orange Greymon whose fire had dealt with the shell problem they had encountered. The orange reptile was now on earth, with Tai, but he would sometimes join her and remember his first evolution into a champion, and how he had grown since then.

The second time wasn't quite as pretty, as the leaving had resulted in four tombstones being moulded into the sand. Wizardmon, who had died protecting his friend and her partner in leaving behind his last gift – a true sign of friendship, courage and nobility. Chuumon, who had died protecting _her_, in the hopes that she and the others could save the rest of digital kind; they had done so, and as the way of the digimon, he was reborn, but even after one knows life will be renewed, the cloud of death linger. Piximon, who had bravely faced all four of the Dark Masters alone in an effort to give them the opportunity they needed for victory...and Whamon, who had saved the one chance they had against MetalSeadramon.

It was always something about death that struck her. Something that reminded her, that unlike the digimon who were eventually reconfigured, humans had no new chances once their thread of life was cut. It made them frailer, more brittle, living life while knowing death was around the corner.

But in such a vibrant scape, it was near impossible to hold onto that thought. The happy humans and digimon, interacting together in the peace they had strove hard to gain and maintain, bustling and hustling around as sneakers, thongs, feet and paws melded together like lines fading into a continuum.

Below that though, below the trampling feet, was the past. The stand they had fled upon when running from Shellmon, from Scorpiomon, from MetalSeadramon...and the moulds that marked the death of four brave friends, crushed flat and hardened into a cemented road by the many pairs of feet that had travelled upon it.

Around the digital world, and the real one too, many things remained of their adventures that fateful summer, but it was to here she always returned. The place that had captured and held her heart.

The Whamon express always rode; he, like the others, had been reborn. In the distance, she could see him, the brown body glimmering in the afternoon rays as the passengers balanced on his bare back, and a flash of gold and blue and red which she could only attribute to one digimon, flew overhead.

Piximon fluttered about the booths in his usual manner, waving his staff like a baton as he always did. They were all here when she came, every time, though the new life had erased all memories of the old, and time had buried all fragments below the sand.

A voice at her feet uttered her name, and she scooped up the pink mouse that hovered near her left shoe, smiling faintly at the glazed eyes lost in memories that were themselves lost, that stared back at her.

The beacon of the past called to them as well. And as long as she, or someone, remembered, one day, they would know why.


End file.
